


guide me

by halleloujah



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Anorexic, Boys Kissing, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, One Shot, Sad, Therapist!Louis, anorexic!harry, pinning, triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halleloujah/pseuds/halleloujah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry suffers from anorexia, and Louis (Dr. Tomlinson) is his eating-disorder therapist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	guide me

**Author's Note:**

> warning: includes eating disorders -- may be triggering.

     “What do you see when you look at yourself in a mirror?” Louis asks.

 

     Today I start treatment. It’s an awfully long journey, but they say I’ll get better. They promise me that it works. I doubt it. If anything, it’ll make it all worse.

 

     According to my mum, and the doctors, I have Anorexia. It’s not like I quit eating completely. I eat some fruits in the mornings. I need energy somehow, otherwise I’d die. Not that I’d mind much. I’m repulsive and oversized.

 

     I look to Louis’ face. He prefers to be Dr. Tomlinson, but told me I could call him Louis, in order to be more comfortable. “I don’t.” I say.

 

     He writes something down on his notepad. It bothers me somewhat. I’d rather not have my confidential stories written on a paper that can easily get lost any day. Louis assures me that it gets locked in his desk every night, and his eyes are the only eyes that see the letters on the papers. He promises that he will check every morning to make sure it’s there.

 

     He looks at me from behind his glasses. “You don’t?” He wonders. Then he gets it. “So, you don’t look in the mirror.”

 

     “No,” I reply. Simple as that. I refuse to look in a mirror. It makes everything worse. “I don’t own one, Dr., I broke them all and threw them away.”

 

     He writes more down. “And when was this?” He doesn’t look at me this time. I feel momentarily guilty that he’s disappointed in me. “When did you break the mirrors and dispose of them?”

 

     I think for a moment. It was a while ago, actually. I remember it vaguely. “Um, maybe four months ago?” I estimate. “I’m really not sure, it was a tough night.”

 

     He writes this down as well. “Harry, this is awfully unhealthy to do. You realize this, right?” He asks. I’m not sure if he expects an answer, but he continues anyways. “In order to get better, you must be able to see improvement daily. I’m sure there is at least one mirror in your household, correct?”

 

     “Yes.”

 

     He sadly looks at me. “And where is this place?” He’s holding his pen in a form that shows he is going to write down whatever I say next.

 

     I bite my lip softly, and wrap my arms around my stomach. I’m cold. He gets up and goes to a cabinet. You must be cold, poor thing,” he places the blanket in my lap. “Now where is this mirror?”

 

     I play with my fingers underneath the blanket. My eyes refuse to meet his right now. “My sister’s room, and my mum’s room.” I answer.

 

     Again, he writes this down. He puts the notepad on the table in front of us. Then he puts his pen down too, and I know that he knows that I feel more comfortable with this.

 

     He gets up and sits next to me. “Harry Styles,” He prompts. I nod. He continues. “Can you do me this one small favor?”

 

     I nod.

 

     He replies, “After this appointment, go home and look in your mother’s mirror,” he gets up again, walking swiftly to the other side of the room. I pretend to not notice how big his bum is, and I pretend to not watch the way he swings his hips. He grabs a book, and sits next to me again. “I want you to write down what you see and how you’re feeling, okay?”

 

     “Sure.” Even though I doubt I’ll actually look in the mirror later. I’ve avoided it for so long, why start again?

 

     He continues. “This here is a journal. I promise only I will see it,” he smiles softy at me. (I’m pretty sure I see his eyes look at my lips for a brief half-second. Though, I don’t know.) He fixes his glasses. “You write your feelings, and don’t be shy, Harry. You can write in this whenever you want, alright?”

 

     I nod. “Are there any rules? For in there, I mean.”

 

     “None,” he says. “Why do you ask? What would you want to put in here that you don’t think fits?”

 

     I sigh and look away, looking out the window. It’s grey and cloudy and rainy. Just like my feelings. “Can I curse?”

 

     “If you feel it suits whatever you are talking about,” he answers. I nod again, softly. “Harry, I want you to do a daily look in the mirror and write down something, anything.”

 

     Daily?

 

     His voice is still going, and I concentrate on how he sounds. Higher-pitched. Cute.

 

     Wait, what?

 

     He’s your therapist, Harry, get a grip! My subconscious is growling at me. He would never want you, you fatass!

 

     “I will even offer to buy a mirror and keep it here, in this room, only for you and I to use. If you don’t want to be alone when you look in the mirror, don’t do it. Wait until the next day and do it here, with me.” He says.

 

     I sigh again, wrapping myself further into the blanket. I want to disappear. I’m taking up so much space on this small couch, Louis must be squished.

 

     He reaches under the blanket and grabs my hand. This feels far too intimate for a normal occasion. He looks me in the eyes. “What are you thinking?”

 

     I feel a tear fall down my cheek, and I hear Louis gasp. “Please tell me.” He says.

 

     Okay, I can do this. “I’m taking up too much space, I’m sorry,” I reply. “I, I can scoot over if you want.”

 

     Louis quickly shakes his head. "No, no. I’m perfectly fine, Harry."

 

     “Promise?”

 

     He nods. “Promise,” his reply is sharp and fast. “You’re taking up barely any space, sweetheart.”

 

     Sweetheart?

 

     I look at him with raised eyebrows. Sweetheart? That’s a first. Then again, this is my first visit here. Maybe he makes up nicknames for all his patients. How many are there, anyway?

 

     He looks at the clock. “Oh, your two hours are over,” he almost looks sad for a second. “You can look in the mirror tonight or with me. I’ll see you tomorrow at 4, correct?”

 

     “Yes,” I reply. I stand up, handing the blanket back to him. He doesn’t take it. “This is yours.”

 

     He smiles and walks with me to the door of the room. “I know,” he almost laughs. There’s a touch of adoration in his face, and he has crinkles by his eyes. He looks generally happy. “Keep it.”

 

     “But I don’t want to forget it at home tomorrow.” I reason.

 

     He nods. “You won’t, Harry. You’re smart, you’ll remember. It’s a way to remember this,” he opens the door. “You won’t forget.”

 

     I smile at him, wrapping myself in the blanket. “Thank you.” I mutter quietly.

 

     “See you tomorrow, Harry.” Louis says.

 

     I wave softly. “You too, Louis.”

 

\------------------------------

 

_Dear journal,_

 

 

 

_My name is Harry Edward Styles. I’ve never owned a journal before, so I’m not even sure if I’m doing this correctly. But, oh well. Dr. Tomlinson gave this journal to me today. He wants me to use it for when I look at my reflection in the mirror, and also when I just need to talk to somebody. I guess I’ll vent sometime? Maybe?_

 

 

 

_I’m standing in the bathroom. My back is to the mirror, so I haven’t seen anything yet. I haven’t seen myself for almost four months now. I’m quite terrified, if you ask me._

 

 

 

_I’m not ready to turn around. But Dr. Tomlinson wants this, wants me to see myself, record my thoughts in this journal._

 

 

 

_(I think I’m going to call you Daisy.)_

 

 

 

_I’m not sure how to do this. I’m going to lose my breath, pass out, hit my head on the edge of the sink, and die. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be; to die because of my horrid reflection. I’ve thought about it before, you know? Dying. Death. What does it feel like to die? But I’m not strong enough to leave the ones I love, even if they don’t actually love me back._

 

 

 

_Dr. Tomlinson. He said that I could write in this journal with or without him. He said I could look at myself with or without him._

 

 

 

_I feel trapped._

 

 

 

_I’m hungry. But I can’t eat. It’s like my stomach is clawing from the inside, begging me to give it something. Anything. I’m not strong enough._

 

 

 

_So, here I go._

 

 

 

_I’m about to turn around. I’m literally hyperventilating. This is scary. Scarier than seeing Freddy or Jason (you know? From the horror movie?). Yeah. This is scarier than that._

 

 

 

_3, 2, 1 . . ._

 

 

 

_Oh my god. Are you seeing what I’m seeing, Daisy?_

 

 

 

_UGLY, FAT, TIRED, LAZY, BURDEN._

 

 

 

_I’m a teenager. I should be healthy, happy, normal. But I’m not._

 

 

 

_I can’t look anymore, I can’t breathe properly anymore. I need to go to bed and cry myself to sleep._

 

 

 

_I can’t do this without Louis._

 

 

 

_Goodnight,_

 

 

 

_Harry .x_

 

 

 

\------------------------------

 

     “This is very good, Harry,” Louis says. He’s just read my journal entry from last night. I’m embarrassed. He’s reading my inner-most thoughts. “This journal entry is longer than I expected it to be for the first one. I’m very proud of you.” He looks up at me. He’s smiling.

 

     The journal (her name is Daisy, seriously) is closed and resting on the table.

 

     I didn’t forget the blanket like I thought I would. “Yeah?” I breathe out. It’s relieving to hear him say he’s proud.

 

     He nods. “Of course. But we need to go over some of this.” He grabs his pen and notepad, ready to write information down. Again. “You mentioned how I wanted this. I don’t want you to think you’re doing me a chore, Harry. Eventually, I want you to grow attached to this journal-”

 

     “Daisy.” I interrupt him.

 

     He continues, nodding. “Yes, of course, Daisy,” he smiles a bit before going serious again. “I want Daisy to become one of your best friends. Consider it. Harry, this is not a job. Alright? You need to learn to want a book consisting of your thoughts and feelings.”

 

     I nod, slightly. “Okay.”

 

     “You should vent to Daisy,” he says. “It helps relieve the tension in your brain.”

 

     I agree. So basically, he wants me to write until my hand is sore? I don’t think I can do that. I’ll just end up in tears and pain and nothing will make this better. Ever.

 

     He leans forward, leaning on his elbows. He’s looking at me so intently that I feel the need to look away. I cannot look away, though.

 

     “You mentioned, more than once, that you aren’t strong enough,” he says. “I don’t believe that for one second. You are a very strong man, Harry. Whether you believe it or not, you can do anything you want to do.”

 

     All this attention has me feeling lightheaded. I don’t feel well.

 

     He senses this. “Would you like to go to the park? Or maybe the coffee shop downtown?” He asks. “You’re getting a little pale, I don’t want you sick. There’s a bakery a few blocks down, it has some very healthy food choices.”

 

     I nod. “The bakery please.”

 

     “The bakery it is, then. Come,” he places a hand soothingly on the low part of my back. It’s rubbing softly. “You must be starving, poor thing.”

 

     Him and his pet-names, I tell you.

 

     When we arrive at the bakery, he leads me to the food section. I point to a salad, and he shakes his head.

 

     “I usually have some salad for an energy booster.” I say.

 

     He looks at me. “The dressing on the salad is high in unhealthy and unwanted ingredients,” he advises. We move a little left. He points to a smaller box. “These are very healthy. It’s a half piece of wheat bread, with lettuce and tomato, added with some ham.”

 

     That actually sounds very pleasing. I nod, and he grabs it for me.

 

     After he has paid for his sandwich and mine, we take a seat at a table in the far back. He’s gotten me water, I just notice this. I thank him, drinking a few sips of my water, then opening the sandwich container.

 

     I blush, thinking of something. He notices and raises an eyebrow. “What has you blushing redder than stop lights?” And I know I’m not literally redder than stop lights but, hey, it’s a joke.

 

     I look at him. “Is this a date?”

 

     He smiles around the small amount of food in his mouth. After swallowing, he says, “Would you like it to be?”

 

     “Very much.”

 

     He takes a sip of water. His sandwich is half gone, while mine only has two bites taken out of it. I feel bloated. He looks at both of us, and the table, and the surroundings. He smiles. “It does look like a date, doesn't it?”

 

     I blush again.

 

     He smirks a bit. “You’re awfully bashful, Harry,” he says. He goes with a softer expression. “Since this is a date, we should get to know each other, yes?”

 

     “Yeah.”

 

     Louis is done eating, mine isn’t even half done. He looks at me, sipping out of his straw. “Tell me the basics of your family, and of yourself.”

 

     I nod, thinking. God, he really is beautiful sitting across from me with an almost glowing effect coming from his skin. It’s like I feel his heat. “Okay,” I say. Where to start? “I am 19, getting a major in photography, I have lived in London all my life, but I was born in Cheshire. Um, I have an older sister named Gemma, and a mum named Anne. My stepdad’s name is Robin.”

 

     He smiles at me. “You’re very lovely, Harry. You know that, right?”

 

     I blush. AGAIN. I look down. “So, what about you? What’s your life like?” I finally get the courage to look at his beautiful blue eyes again. He has a serious expression now.

 

     He’s thinking, dramatically rubbing his non-existent beard. (But I do see some stubble there.) He says, “Well, I am 22. I have lived in London my whole life as well, but I was born in Doncaster,” He’s so cute. “I have four younger sisters named Charlotte, Felicity, Daisy, and Phoebe. We call them Lottie, Fizzy, Daiz, and Pheebs.”

 

     “Like Daisy the journal.” I smile. It’s like fate.

 

     He laughs, then covers his mouth with his hand. It’s almost like he’s embarrassed of his laugh. I thought it was adorable, honestly.

 

     I laugh as well.

 

     “Yes, like Daisy the journal.” He says.

 

\------------------------------

 

_Dear Daisy,_

 

 

 

_I’m not going to look in the mirror tonight. I simply cannot go through with looking at the skin on my body, knowing just how hard I am trying to get rid of it. I try to claw, scratch, pull it off of my stomach. But the skin stays, and adds extra to my body weight._

 

 

 

_My friend Liam is coming over later. I haven’t seen him for two weeks. It’s sad, really. We met during middle school, he’s always been there. For some reason, though, I feel like he doesn’t want to see me. Who wants to hangout with the fat kid?_

 

 

 

_I feel sad, Daisy. Mum says I’m wasting away. She says I’m going to fade out and dissipate until there’s nothing left, until my ashes are drifting in the wind. But I always argue: wouldn’t it feel nice to be free?_

 

 

 

_I feel like a piece of me was put back together, Daisy._

 

 

 

_Louis and I went out earlier for a break from our session. It was a bit much to handle, I felt like the wind was taken from me, so we went to the bakery. It was a date._

 

 

 

_He’s a really nice guy, Daisy. He has really soft-looking caramel brown hair. It’s always styled in a fringe. I can’t tell if he wakes up and uses gel or if he just wakes up and it’s already sculptured perfectly like that. I want to touch it._

 

 

 

_His blue eyes are a mix of different shades of blue. Dark, light, combined. He literally glows when I look at his eyes. They capture you, Daisy. It's like getting sucked into a pool, drowning in the depth of it. I don’t know what to say._

 

 

 

_He’s very beautiful._

 

 

 

_I’m tired, so I’m going to go to bed. I get to see Dr. Tomlinson tomorrow, and I’m going to look in the mirror with him. He makes me feel safe and comfortable._

 

 

 

_Goodnight,_

 

 

 

_Harry .x_

 

\------------------------------

 

     “I can’t do this.” I say.

 

     Louis has gotten a mirror for his room. It’s tall and sticks to the wall. It’s very clean. I’m standing with my shirt and pants off. My boxers are still on. At first I was a bit hesitant to take my clothes off, but Louis reassured me that he’s seen it all before. I trust him. So here I am, my back to the mirror, my arms wrapped around my stomach. I’m shivering, freezing.

 

     Louis tuts. “Now, Harry,” he says. “If you say you can’t, you won’t. You’ve come so far, you can’t drop out. After this, we’ll read the second journal entry, okay?”

 

     “Okay.”

 

     Louis looks at me, he’s standing very closely. So close, that I could take a step and lean forward and kiss his soft lips.

 

     He grabs my arms soothingly, rubbing up and down. “Turn around, Harry.”

 

     I nod, and slowly turn around. I’m watching every movement. I look at myself. “Oh god,” I say and close my eyes. “Lou, I can’t.”

 

     “Harry, you’re a very handsome young man. You need to experience this.”

 

     I shake my head and turn to face him. My eyes are wide, and I run to my clothes, putting them on as fast as possible. He’s saying my name, but I can’t. I just can’t. I grab the blanket and head out the door without even looking back.

 

     I get to the park and sit on the grass, leaning against a tree.

 

     My phone rings.

 

     Once.

 

     Twice.

 

     I pick up on the third one. “Hello?”

 

     “Harry, Harry, please,” and I know immediately who it is. “Tell me where you are. We need to talk. Please, trust me.”

 

      I sigh, lean my head against the tree, breathe. “The park,” I say. “I’m at the park three blocks over.” It’s cloudy again, and cold. It looks like it could sprinkle. Louis’ voice sounds like raindrops. Beautiful.

 

     “Oh, Harry,” he says. I can hear movement, and I know he’s on his way. “I read the second journal entry.”

 

     Okay . . .

 

     OH GOD.

 

     I totally forgot that I wrote my feelings for him in there. I wrote what I liked about him and what I think – god damnit. “About that –”

 

     “Do you mean it?”

 

     I hear his car driving not far away. He’s almost here, still on the phone with me. I nod, even though I know he can’t see it. “All of it.” I reply.

 

     I hear his sigh. “Harry, I’m here,” he says. I look back, see his car, and feel some rain. “It’s going to rain soon, come in the car. Please?”

 

     “I can’t go back.”

 

     I get up and walk to the car, phone still pressed against my ear. He says, “I promise, we’ll stay right here.”

 

     I get in and sit down, closing the door. It’s so warm. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s Louis. Who knows?

 

     He’s breathless as he looks at me. I look back over at him. I’m electrified. He’s still breathless as he leans over, grabs my cheeks, and puts his lips against mine. Our eyes are closed, I put my hands in his hair, leaning over toward him as well. Such soft lips. He moves his lips, and I do the same. Soon, there’s a tongue rubbing my bottom lip, and I am eager to let it in. Warmth. Our tongues wrestle for the warmth they desire.

 

     I’m pretty sure I love this man.

 

     It’s only been three days.

 

     I can do this.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> this is my absolute first post on here, so, i'm not fully sure about how to work this account yet. but, yeah. hopefully it wasn't bad? it's from my wattpad, which is: larryokay. c:
> 
> follow me on wattpad? x


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